Failure
by darklogic09
Summary: A talk between the two of them just had to change what it means like falling, falling and not standing up again. /One-shot, can be RyoSaku, can be not/


**Title;** Failure

I own nothing, save for the plot.

**Summary; **It's best not to stand up anymore when you fall, when there's no one else to catch you- that wasn't even the case, not for Ryoma, not for Sakuno. A talk between the two just had to change it.

**Note;** I sort of messed up with their characterizations, especially Ryoma's. A random plot bunny has baked this equally random fic but I just had to let this out. D: This should've been a drabble, how I wonder what made this rather longer than I initially thought it would be. Squint hard and maybe you can sense the RyoSaku vibes here. (shrugs)

**X**

When she falls, she _falls_- not in a feigned way, not in a literal sense; she just falls, whether in reality or in dreams (_nightmares_), in love or any other matter that can pull her down like the earth's gravity would. And if she hit the bottom, she'd hit it hard, hard enough to make her realize that hope could either be still within her reach-

(Will there be such a place? Where the grass could be greener, thicker, free?)

_Or_- there was never really such a thing in the first place.

(She wonders if this is also true, no matter the extent, for him- him, as she watches him exit the court, the tennis racket in his grip, the defeat weighing upon his shoulders.)

**X**

"That's not funny."

She blinked, lifting her gaze down, _down_, until she can clearly see the glint of non-amusement in his eyes.

"…I'm not trying to be funny," she retorted lamely, pausing before- "…at all, Ryoma-kun."

He rolled his eyes, the right corner of his mouth managing to hoist itself up just a little bit more than his left one to pull that smirk- that smirk he was _trying_ to prevent from escaping. He reached for his cap, effortlessly pulling it away from her loosened grasp, returning it back to the grass, the broken, torn grass beneath. He leaned the whole of his back, pressing it against the grass, his hands behind his head.

"I was only trying to get back what they stole from you," she reasoned out, an evident pout present on her face. He was too far, _so far_, to be touched by her actions.

Then, he looks her way, one eye opened and another shut, nonchalance spread across his features. Ignorance without a doubt.

"I know," he said simply, and with a mere effort in voicing he added: "But you didn't have to."

Down the place the tennis courts sit as part of the ground, against the glaring sun, people crowding and gathering round the walls, the edges of them.

Sure it was a pang on her chest, a light strike; she can sense the ungratefulness, the indifference, and everything in between, concealed in his sentence. But she dismissed the thought, wanting to talk some sense to him. She sat beside him on the grass, two or three steps away his distance, looking ahead, those tired auburn eyes.

"It's a loss, isn't it?" she began after the silence reigned, unable to clear her throat for some reason unknown, unable to choke back what she had just spoken.

(-Because there was the impossibility, the inevitable)

No, this did not affect him, did not come across him, did not make his tone waver and tremble, because all of those are for the weak.

He arched a brow at her, questioning silently. But, he has no intention of stopping her.

"The match"- at least she still had the power to hold back a sigh- "the match, Ryoma-kun. Was it rightful in your part to-"

That, again. Her resolution failing her.

"To- _lose_?"

For a moment he gave her not an answer, but rude silence.

(There was the sound, that sound- a smack on the ball, a hit, the noise of the crowd, the tension, the cheers, and then-)

"Life's a game," he replied instead, keeping the bitterness from coloring his tone away, not longing to separate from the comforts of the soft nature underneath him, "you have to learn how to deal with it. Defeat is merely loss."

"…And chances to take, but what if you stand and stand but you keep on falling, failing?" her shoulders went cold upon mouthing this, because she did not, _can not_, imagine this boy to fall to such lengths.

(-like a phoenix, rising, every time it hits the ground, or the sea, the sky is where it belongs to-)

"Ryuuzaki," he said firmly, neither raising his head nor his voice, if ever annoyance was already clouding his thoughts or actions, "does it even matter?" His eyes were fixed on the skies this time, perhaps musing in deep thought.

"Ryoma-kun kept his usual expression when the match was finished- he didn't-" she faltered, glancing down the courts as if they would reveal a past, an unthinkable thought, a feeling that would trace back in time, "-he didn't meet his opponent on the net, to shake hands with him, more so when he didn't even gaze back at his opponent, at the end…"

With this, she can sense his reaction, the gritting of his teeth, the clenching of his fist, the poor, beaten grass crushed in an unfamiliar hand.

"Heh," he eventually said, when calmness took control of him once again, "that was keen of you to notice all of that."

"I- It was your usualness that bothered me most, Ryoma-kun," she brushed away what he said- albeit it was a compliment or he had thought of actually _stalling_- "as if you were hiding something behind the calmness- that even senpai-tachi didn't bother reminding you of it or they didn't know _at all_…"

"I wonder what you are," he mouthed perplexedly instead, confusing her with a tone she cannot quite comprehend. When she turned to- to his direction, to see his face, that face she knows that can hold a glare pointing at her-

"I wonder what you are, who you are, to notice that," he kept his voice even, not breaking nor stuttering, because it will drive his control paces away from what he initially have over this conversation. He was sitting up now, his eyes in the same level as hers, their faces mere inches away from each other, but he has no intention of closing the proximity.

"I-" she muttered, tearing her gaze from him, coherency flying out of her as she felt, almost, his breath fanning her skin, "I'm me. I always am."

"Pride is what lets you go on," he explains simply, but she felt it was tad a bit awkward in his part to do so, "it clings onto hope, because it can wish and wish for victory, even if it's all out of vain, sometimes."

"So, there _is_ hope then," she told him as realization dawned upon her, but he decided not to delve in deeper, _not _deeper, because it was pointless to continue.

But he did not want to screw up royally, now that there was a hint of satisfaction _and_ maybe a spark of happiness present in her eyes.

Again, he did not choose to go her direction, and so he created a much wider distance between them again, lying back to his initial position. "I guess that settles it."

"…If one fails, he falls-" but her stubbornness brought them both back to her way- "and when he falls, he hits the bottom, pained, hurt, without anyone catching him. So he had to stand up again, start from scratch, until-"

She did not know where the blush that had crept to spread across her face came from.

"…Until someone might catch his fall, someone might catch _him_, and it won't probably be harder than not catching him at all," she finished her statement, plucking out the guts she ever had just to face him.

He cracked one dull golden eye open at her. "It seems like you're speaking based on an experience."

This made her blush grow harder, more intense, the red hue more existing than not.

"I-I don't!" she stuttered, raising her voice just a little bit to prove her point, to defend it and not leave her embarrassed all over again. _When I fall- it's hard enough to- to even hit the ground, because there will be no one to catch you, that special someone that you thought that he'd come to catch you- it's tough enough that-_

A small smile, that warm pull of his mouth, as if it was made to break her heart, her very own protective walls to crumble. She dropped her gaze, did not hold his, and did not dare see his smile even though it was tempting.

Vaguely tempting, that is.

"Thank you," he murmured- nonchalance indeed, loud and coherent enough for her to hear, for her to take in, as he shut his eyes once more for slumber to take him away from reality, even for just a few minutes.

She knows her voice cannot reach him, at times like this; her feeble voice not enough, and yet-

"You're welcome," she said, almost shyly, warm, "Ryoma-kun."

**X**

**END**

**X**

Comments, feedbacks, anything- are greatly appreciated, thank you! (sprints off)


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